


Happier

by 55anon (Anon)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode 15x18, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon/pseuds/55anon
Summary: Lately, I've been, I've been thinking / I want you to be happier / I want you to be happierWhen the morning comes / When we see what we've become / In the cold light of day we're a flame in the wind / Not the fire that we've begunEvery argument / Every word we can't take back / 'Cause with the all that has happened / I think that we both know the way that this story endsThen only for a minute / I want to change my mind / 'Cause this just don't feel right to meI wanna raise your spirits / I want to see you smile but / Know that means I'll have to leave
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Happier

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in summary from "Happier" by Marshmello, Bastille

They'd had a deal. Because in the Winchester world, there are goodbyes, and there are _goodbyes_. Some people in the world tell each other 'see you later' out of superstition. Dean doesn't say, see you later. Dean doesn't really say anything at all. All of his goodbyes come after the person's already gone.

It's not so much a superstition as a habit. They grew up on the road. He remembers vaguely, like the taste of a good day long forgotten, that he made friends in elementary school. He liked his teachers. The motel manager, a kind lady with braided hair, told him homespun stories about her huge family of six brothers and three sisters, and the cook at the local diner would give him chocolate milk. But more than that, he remembers the astringent smell at the back of his throat, watching Scooby Doo when his dad marched in and told him to pack his bags, they were leaving.

It must have been late afternoon, early evening in the long days of summer-- enough time that they could have gone to the local playground so he could say goodbye, get one more slice of pie from Mr. Tony, hug Ms. Peart at the reception desk. He asked. He didn't understand the rush. He was supposed to play racecars with Rashod and Devon tomorrow, Mrs. Walton said they were going to go on a field trip next week, couldn't they stay a little longer? Why did they have to go _now_? Like so many other things to come, he only asked once. John also had a way of not saying things.

And like so many things to come, Dean did his best to give Sam what he wished for himself but could not have-- a chance to say goodbye. Dean has a neverending loop in his head of packing their bags, loading up supplies, wiping the warding spells off their motel window and scraping them off the door, cleaning the salt lines, filling the gas while Sam ran to his friends, hugged them, cried, and said goodbye.

If Dean was lucky, Sam's friends might have an older sibling who knew, or knew of, Dean, and Dean would get a chance to perfect the smile that said yeah, it sucks they have to leave; yeah, Dean would miss so-and-so and could you let so-and-so know that their family had to leave unexpectedly. Dean grew practiced wearing a rueful yet charming look on his face that evaded questions about where they were going, did he have a number they could call, maybe they could write to each other. He schooled his body to stay loose and relaxed while telling Sam's teachers that yes, they were sad to go; yes, it was always hard on Sam; no, they were not in trouble; no, they would be okay but thanks for asking; yes, it'd be great if they could take some oatmeal raisin cookies for the road.

If Dean was lucky, he'd have a chance to say some goodbyes also. Most of the time, Dean wasn't lucky. After a while, he stopped trying.

There's a strange thing that happens to people when there is something they desperately want but cannot have. The sharpness of the pain turns outward until what a person wants becomes what a person despises. It festers in the mute parts of a person's soul until its song turns into a screech from rotting lips, a faceless thing with bloody claws.

At night with whiskey, in that brief window of time before drinking turns into drunk, Dean wonders: if he'd ever learned to say goodbye, how different would his life be?

Because Cassie loved rom-coms. She made Dean watch what seemed like every chick-flick ever made and at the time, Dean's protests that devolved to chasing each other around the couch, his exaggerated sighs when she took his arm and put it around her shoulder were exactly what they looked like: theatrics. Chick-flicks were theirs. He'd never watched them with Sam or, god forbid, John. There were no guns or ghosts, and the only things that went bump in night were their noses while kissing.

When it all fell apart-- when it all fell apart. You see, this is something that Dean cannot consciously explain but that he knows is true: all romances are not about falling in love, but saying goodbye. Chick-flick moments? The center of the chick-flick moment is the realization that they cannot, will not, do not want to live without the other. They want 'til death do us part. It's the on-screen love confession, it's running through the airport, it's calling off the wedding, it's kissing in the pouring rain. Whatever form it takes, at its heart is the same thing: they _do not want to say goodbye_.

He has never wanted to say goodbye to Cas, but he's lost count of how many times he has. When he lit that funeral pyre-- when he lit that funeral pyre, the clear mountain air became saturated with the stench of pine resin gasoline. It soaked into his clothes and skin and hair, the heat of Cas' burning body the most intimate touch he'd ever experienced. 

Here, there is no heat. No smell or sound, no taste of the disgusting, greasy ash that accompanies a hunter's pyre. Dean has the distant, hysterical thought that it's empty. Empty. Emptied. It even took his tears.

The rotten, snarling, mute thing in him is gone too, replaced by the memory of the terrible light in Cas' eyes, telling Dean a truth he always knew but never (and always) wanted (and hungered) to see: that Cas found his moment of true happiness in sacrificing himself for Dean, and _only_ for Dean.

Cas gifted him a terrifying, unholy nightmare-- that Cas loves humans because of Dean, not Dean because he's human. Dean was first; the world came after. In some strange twist defying logic, Cas loved the world because it was saved by _Dean_ , not because Dean was destined to save the world.

And the final image of chilling serenity, making Dean witness in finality that Castiel, angel of the Lord, loves Dean for who he is, not for what he can do, and will face the erasure of his existence for him. Cas does not want to say goodbye, but is saying goodbye anyway.

They are twinned souls, he and Cas. Because sacrifice is the only language of love Dean understands, and Castiel is-- was-- the only one who was fluent in him.

Dean knows the answer now. He knows that if he'd ever learned to say goodbye, they would've found-- they would've--

He would not have said goodbye


End file.
